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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26318560">Out of the Frying Pan, into the Fire (of Feelings)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roshwen/pseuds/Hedgehog-o-Brien'>Hedgehog-o-Brien (Roshwen)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Leverage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alec is fine, As you do, Eliot is too, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: S04e07 The Grave Danger Job, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, They're just crying bc they are so completely OK that's all, Using Lord of the Rings to cope</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:35:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26318560</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roshwen/pseuds/Hedgehog-o-Brien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>‘I need you too, you know.’</p>
<p>Or: Hardison is Fine™ and Eliot has an Emotion. Set right after the Grave Danger Job, so, you know. Content warnings for that episode apply.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alec Hardison &amp; Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>142</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Out of the Frying Pan, into the Fire (of Feelings)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'M ALIVE!</p>
<p>Yes, hello, it's me, Hedgehog. I'm sure I don't have to explain how the past ... gestures at literally everything ... has been a <em>massive</em> drain on my creativity. Thankfully I live in a country with a decent government and with decent healthcare so things aren't as bad as they could be, but still. </p>
<p>Anywho. Something's been sparking in the past couple of weeks, so I'm slowly, gently, making my way back into writing land. Today's episode is brought to you by flootzavut in the Leverage Discord chat, who came up with the premise of Eliot telling Hardison he needs him too, it's not just Parker. The image immediately burned itself into my brain and refused to leave until I wrote it out, so here we are. </p>
<p>Enjoy, stay safe, wear your fucking mask, kudos and comments are appreciated and come yell at me on tumblr if you want to!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘I need you too, you know.’</p>
<p>Eliot’s voice is rough and the words come out so softly, Alec barely catches them. He knows he’s not <em>supposed </em>to catch them at all; he is supposed to be asleep, lying on the couch in the smallest and safest apartment he has with his head in Eliot’s lap.</p>
<p>Which, yes, sounds weird. But given the circumstances, and given the day he has had, Alec isn’t exactly complaining.</p>
<p>Because somehow, for some reason, he had been<em> buried alive </em>that afternoon. And his team had come for him, of course they had, he’d <em>known </em>they would. But they’d come for him and they’d dragged him out of that literal death trap of a coffin. And then they’d dragged him back to the bar for a very brief debriefing, and then <em>he </em>had dragged himself downstairs to talk to Parker and then finally, at long last, he had dragged himself back to this place. Where he had proceeded to first get out of that <em>goddamn </em>suit. Have a mild panic attack. Take a shower. Have a <em>slightly</em> more serious panic attack and then make his way back into the living room because the bedroom in this place was <em>cramped </em>and if there was one thing Alec was <em>not </em>doing tonight it was lying still in a dark, cramped space. No sir.</p>
<p>And somehow, for some reason, when he stepped into the living room, Eliot had been there. Feet on the coffee table, beer in his hand, watching a football game.</p>
<p>Alec had blinked, standing in the doorway, still holding a towel to his chest like a safety blankie. ‘Uhm.’</p>
<p>Eliot looked up. Raised one eyebrow, and then turned back to the TV, where loud cheering indicated something very exciting was happening. Alec sighed. Thought for a brief moment about kicking Eliot out, claiming he was tired and exhausted (he <em>was, </em>because he had been <em>buried alive</em>) and that he wanted to be alone.</p>
<p>But then Eliot would leave.</p>
<p>And then he’d actually <em>be </em>alone.</p>
<p>Fuck that.</p>
<p>So Alec had shaken his head, rolled his eyes just for show, closed the door behind him and dragged himself over to the couch, plonking down as close to Eliot as he dared. Which, after that bone crushing hug that he could still feel his ribs complaining about, was a lot closer than it would have been yesterday.</p>
<p>‘At least put on something that’s actually fun to watch,’ he muttered, sinking down into the cushions and closing his eyes, breathing out for what seems to be like the first time since he walked into that hellhole of a funeral home that afternoon. Before he had been <em>buried alive</em>.</p>
<p>Eliot, still not saying anything, had glared a little, and huffed a bit, and then changed the channel to the BBC which, miracle of miracles, was airing old Dr. Who episodes. Alec didn’t care. The cries of <em>EXTERMINATE </em>and tinny laser beam sound effects were a hell of a lot better than the crackling static of a failing telephone connection.</p>
<p>At one point, whether it had been the sound of ancient aliens, or the quiet but steady presence of Eliot, who apparently wasn’t going anywhere (and for that, Alec was stupidly grateful even if he pretended to be completely cool with this) or just, being <em>buried alive </em>that day<em>, </em>Alec had dozed off. At least he must have, because he suddenly found himself with a crick in his neck and his cheek resting on something soft yet sturdy, which turned out to be Eliot’s chest.</p>
<p>In the before times, the quiet, calm and wonderful world of yesterday where being <em>buried alive </em>was a distant dread that only happened in nightmares, Alec would have immediately jumped up and away, apologizing profusely or, depending on the situation, cracked a joke and then beat a tactful but hasty retreat to his own bed.</p>
<p>The problem tonight, however, was this: his own bed would not have Eliot in it.</p>
<p>And Alec was <em>fine, </em>absolutely <em>fine</em>, cool, OK, just peachy and perfect and <em>fine, </em>he was Alec fucking Hardison and he did<em> not </em>let some goons who <em>buried him alive </em>get to him.</p>
<p>He was fine. He was absolutely fine.</p>
<p>He just kind of liked Eliot to be there tonight. That was all.</p>
<p>Right then, the noise of the Tardis setting off into space was turned down and Alec was pushed down, gently but firmly, until he was as horizontal as he could get. Eliot’s jeans still smelled of damp grass and mud but before Alec had time to process <em>that</em>, Eliot’s arm came up and wrapped itself around his chest. Holding him, or at least, holding him down. If Eliot wasn’t going anywhere then, apparently, neither was Alec.</p>
<p>It took a few seconds, but then Alec relaxed. He was fine. This was fine. He could have protested and he could have gotten up and gone to bed but he was tired and Eliot was right here and he had been <em>buried alive </em>and he was fine. This was fine.</p>
<p>He closed his eyes. The light from the TV dimmed for a moment as Eliot, who Alec started to suspect had taken a vow of silence or something, quietly started flipping channels again. And when he stopped, and sound returned, Alec could have wept because:</p>
<p>
  <em>I amar prestar aen. The world is changed.</em>
</p>
<p>Talk about a <em>comfort classic.</em></p>
<p>He barely noticed Eliot’s hand tightening in his T-shirt as he gave a deep, shuddering sigh that was almost but not quite a sob. He just pressed his face down, down into the smell of mud and grass and <em>safe </em>and let the sound of Galadriel’s voice carry him away.</p>
<p>It wasn’t sleep. Not really. Alec isn’t sure he could have slept after being <em>buried alive</em>, despite being weary to the bone and despite Eliot and sci fi and fantasy classics. It’s more of weaving in and out of consciousness. He picks up most of Galadriel’s monologue. He misses Bilbo’s farewell party, but he does register when Gandalf tells Frodo to get his Hobbit butt to Bree. He dozes off again when Strider appears and then suddenly everyone is in Rivendell and Eliot is telling him he needs him.</p>
<p>Alec’s breath almost catches in his throat. But then a small part, a fraction of his brain comes back online and he realizes that any reaction, any indication that he is aware that there are things being said and that emotionally constipated hitters are finally allowing themselves to experience an Emotion, will make sure that Eliot relapses into terrifying silence. Possibly forever.</p>
<p>So. Alec breathes out. He gathers all his previous <em>Nana is coming to check and we can’t let her know that we are still awake and have been reading comic books after she told us to turn off the lights two hours ago </em>training and lies still. Eyes closed, breathing as regular and even as he can manage, even though his heart is hammering in his throat. It probably wouldn’t have fooled Eliot under normal circumstances. But after an extremely weird, creepy and then downright terrifying day, in which Alec was <em>buried alive, </em>it seems neither of them is as sharp as they usually are.</p>
<p>Because Eliot continues.</p>
<p>‘I heard Parker tellin’ you she needed ya,’ he says, voice still barely above a whisper. His hand tightens in Alec’s shirt, and Alec has to fight his hardest to lie still, to keep himself from grabbing Eliot’s hand and holding on just as tight. ‘And I gotta tell ya, she’s not the only one.’</p>
<p>Alec’s eyes are stinging and he knows his breathing is growing ragged. Any moment now, Eliot will notice and the spell will break. Alec is not sure what will happen next. He doesn’t want to find out either, but it’s inevitable.</p>
<p>‘I need you too,’ Eliot says again, unaware of Alec rapidly approaching his third breakdown that night. ‘Need you… need you. In your van, behind your keyboard, naggin’ in my ear and workin’ your magic. Need you messin’ with the numbers and openin’ the doors and drinkin’ your orange soda and eatin’ candy and talkin’ shit about your world of warlord games and… fuck.’</p>
<p>It seems Alec is not the only one bumping up against his breaking point. Because there is a suspiciously wet sound above his head and when Eliot speaks up again, his voice is tight and hoarse. ‘If you don’t make it…’ He stops. There is another rough sound that has to be a sob that is almost but not quite held back and then: ‘If you don’t make it, we’re done for. The team’s done for, Parker’s done for. <em>I’m </em>done for. I can’t…’</p>
<p>He stops again. Alec has given up any pretense of being asleep and is well aware that his face is wet and that it is soaking into Eliot’s knees. There is a long stretch of silence, broken only by Pippin enquiring where it is they are actually going. At last, Eliot clears his throat. ‘Just. Don’t do that again,’ he says, voice almost back to normal except for a telltale quiver at the end. ‘Don’t scare us… don’t scare me again like that. And I know you can hear me, so you better listen.’</p>
<p>Alec swallows. ‘Won’t,’ he croaks out, much like he did earlier that afternoon after they pulled him out. ‘Promise. Won’t.’</p>
<p>‘Good.’ Eliot almost sounds matter-of-fact like. Like Alec has promised him not to snatch his chocolate chip cookies again. He leans back into the couch and it seems like that’s that. The Fellowship sets out to Mordor, Alec wipes his eyes on Eliot’s jeans and tries to go back to the blissful dozing of ten minutes ago and they both pretend that Eliot isn’t gripping Alec’s T-shirt tight enough to rip the seams.</p>
<p>After a full entire minute of mental back and forth, Alec gives in. He gently pries Eliot’s fingers away from the poor, mangled fabric and tugs and twists until he’s holding Eliot’s hand, albeit in a death grip because those emotions from five minutes ago aren’t going anywhere.</p>
<p>That’s OK. It’s fine. As the Balrog rises and Alec drifts away again, as comfortable and safe as he could be given the circumstances, he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he might be OK after all. He’s Alec fucking Hardison. He can handle being buried alive. As long as Eliot is there to watch over him afterwards, he’s all good. </p>
<p>Especially when Eliot stays, just like that, for the <em>entire trilogy. </em>And if the sniffling overhead starts up again once they finally get to the Grey Havens scene, well. Alec’s fast asleep, he doesn’t hear a thing.</p>
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